🚨TESLA JUST FOUND A WAY TO BUILD THE WORLD'S BIGGEST AI SUPERCOMPUTER WITHOUT BUILDING A SINGLE DATA CENTER
The answer was sitting in millions of driveways the whole time… your parked car.
The entire AI industry has hit a wall.. And it's not chips.. It's power..
Building AI data centers now means waiting years for grid connections.. The Stargate project from OpenAI and Oracle is spending up to $500 billion to build 7 gigawatts of capacity.. And it'll take years to come online..
Tesla just realized it already has 7 gigawatts.. Sitting in its Supercharger network.. Already built.. Already connected to the grid.. Already permitted..
So on June 18, 2026, Tesla quietly filed a trademark for something called MEGAPOD.. Modular AI data center hardware designed to drop straight into existing Supercharger sites..
No land to buy.. No years-long grid queue.. No new power plants.. They just bolt compute onto infrastructure they already own..
But that's the small idea..
Here's the radical one..
The average car sits parked and unused about 95% of its life.. And every modern Tesla already has a powerful AI chip inside it.. Built for self-driving..
So Tesla wants to link millions of parked cars into one massive distributed supercomputer..
The math is staggering.. If Tesla hits 100 million vehicles, and each contributes about 1 kilowatt of compute.. That's 100 gigawatts of AI processing power..
That dwarfs every data center on earth combined.. And the real estate, the power, and the cooling were all already paid for.. By the people who bought the cars..
Your Tesla is liquid-cooled.. Plugged in overnight.. Doing nothing.. It's basically a sleeping computer in your garage..
And Tesla's plan is to let you rent it out..
Owners could earn passive income, free Supercharging, or discounts on Full Self-Driving in exchange for leasing their car's idle computing power while they sleep..
Your car stops being a depreciating asset.. And starts earning money while parked..
This is the part competitors can't copy..
OpenAI has to spend half a trillion dollars and wait years for power.. Tesla already has the grid connections, the batteries to stabilize them, the chips, and millions of cooled computers sitting idle in driveways worldwide..
Everyone else is trying to build a giant brain in one place..
Tesla is turning the entire planet into one.
The grrrrrreat thing about Elon becoming a trillionaire (assuming he can really sell, no taxes, etc.), is that he makes a few farts whose identity is entirely linked to being rich feel truly inferior.
By popular demand I present to you the preface to:
What Would You Do Alone in a Cage with Nothing but Adderall?
Preface: The Rat Question
There's an experiment from the 1970s that should bother you more than it does.
Researchers put rats alone in cages with two water bottles. One contained plain water. The other contained water laced with cocaine or heroin. The rats, with nothing else to do, drank almost exclusively from the drugged bottle. Most of them kept going until they died.
For decades this was taken as proof that drugs are inherently hijacking — that any creature, given access, will spiral inevitably toward self-destruction. The experiment seemed to demonstrate something terrifying about the nature of pleasure and will.
Then, in the late 1970s, a psychologist named Bruce Alexander noticed the problem. The rats weren't just given drugs. They were alone. In a cage. With nothing else.
He built Rat Park: a large colony with other rats, toys, tunnels, food, sex, activity. He gave these rats the same two water bottles. They tried the drugged water occasionally. They didn't become addicted. Some who were already addicted recovered.
The original experiment hadn't discovered something about drugs. It had discovered something about emptiness.
I think about this experiment a lot when I talk to founders.
Not because founders are addicts, though some are, and not because Adderall is cocaine, though the mechanism is not as different as people assume. I think about it because the question the experiment actually asks is: what does a creature do when there is nothing meaningful to engage with?
And I think the honest answer, for humans, is that we reach for the nearest thing that makes us feel like we're doing something. We check metrics. We go to conferences. We rewrite the landing page for the fourth time. We have long conversations about strategy. We take the pill that makes our email feel urgent.
We mistake the sensation of productivity for the thing itself.
The question I want to ask in this book is simpler and harder: what would you work on if none of that were available? If you stripped away the performance of work — the Slack activity, the investor updates, the Twitter presence — and sat alone with a problem, what problem would you actually want to solve?
Because I've noticed that founders who know the answer to that question tend to do well. And founders who don't — regardless of their intelligence, their connections, their funding — tend to drift, then fail, in ways they find very difficult to explain afterward.
I. The Taste Test
When I was doing my PhD in computer science — before I switched to painting, before YC, before all of it — I had a recurring experience that I didn't know what to make of at the time.
I would sit down to work on my dissertation. Within minutes, I would find reasons to do other things. Make tea. Check email. Read papers that were related but not directly relevant. Talk to other students. The hours would pass. At the end of the day I'd feel vaguely okay about how things went, because I'd been busy.
But the dissertation barely moved.
What I didn't understand then is that I wasn't lazy. I was doing a taste test that I couldn't consciously acknowledge. Some part of me was noticing, every time I sat down, that the work I was supposed to be doing didn't taste right. It wasn't interesting to me in the way it needed to be. And so I rerouted — toward things that felt more alive, even if they were smaller or less sanctioned.
The procrastination wasn't the problem. It was a symptom, and a reasonably accurate one. I was working on the wrong thing.
This is hard to accept because our culture has a very firm story about will and work: that the difference between successful and unsuccessful people is the ability to push through resistance. Grind. Discipline. Do the thing even when you don't feel like it.
There's something to this, but it's mostly wrong, and the wrongness is important.
The founders I've seen who worked hardest — genuinely hardest, not performatively hardest — were not disciplined in the sense of forcing themselves. They had to be forced to stop. They'd work 18 hours and be puzzled that it had been 18 hours. That's not discipline. That's something else.
What is it?
II. Interest vs. Curiosity
The word people reach for here is "passion," which I've come to think is useless because it's too vague and points in the wrong direction. Passion sounds like something you have or don't have, some quantity of emotional intensity directed at a subject. People think they need to find their passion like it's a lost object.
The more useful concept is curiosity. And specifically: genuine curiosity, which I'd define as wanting to know something for its own sake, not because knowing it serves some ulterior goal.
Genuine curiosity has a very specific phenomenology. It feels like an itch. You find yourself thinking about the problem when you're not supposed to be — in the shower, on walks, right before sleep. You read papers not because you should but because you want to see if the authors noticed the same thing you noticed. You feel mild irritation when someone claims the problem is solved, because you can see it isn't.
Fake curiosity — what I'd call interest — feels different. You find a topic intellectually respectable. You can engage with it. You understand why it matters. But you don't actually lie awake thinking about it.
Almost every mistake I've seen smart people make in choosing what to work on comes from confusing these two things. They pick the problem that seems important, or that gets status in their field, or that their advisor cares about, or that VCs are currently excited about — and they mistake the fact that they can engage with it for the fact that they're genuinely gripped by it.
The way to tell the difference is not introspection. It's behavior. What do you do when you have a truly free hour? Not a scheduled free hour — those tend to get colonized by the performance of productivity. A genuinely free hour, unobserved, where no one would ever know what you did with it?
That's the taste test. That's the Rat Park experiment applied to yourself.
III. Working at the Edge of Your Ability
There's a second ingredient, which is less about direction and more about difficulty.
Work is engaging when it's at the edge of your ability. Not easy — easy is boring and you know it immediately. Not impossible — impossible produces a different kind of paralysis. But right at the edge: hard enough that you have to stretch, close enough that stretching feels like it might work.
This is, incidentally, why video games are so effective at producing flow states. Good game design is essentially the art of calibrating difficulty to keep you exactly at your edge. The feedback loop is fast, the progress is visible, and the difficulty scales with your skill.
Real work is terrible at all of these things. Feedback is slow, often ambiguous, sometimes completely absent. Progress is invisible for months. Difficulty is poorly calibrated — it's often either bureaucratic friction (boring) or genuine unknowns (vertiginous).
This is why the structure of how you work matters so much, and why it varies so much between people who are actually productive. What you're trying to do, in designing your work environment, is recreate some of those game design properties: faster feedback, visible small wins, a way to stay at the edge rather than drifting into either boredom or overwhelm.
The Adderall question is relevant here. What stimulants actually do — at the doses most people take them — is make the boring parts more tolerable. They reduce the flinch response to tedium. This is why they're genuinely useful for certain kinds of work, like pushing through the implementation of something you've already fully understood, or editing, or anything with high coordination overhead and low creative demand.
They're actively harmful for the thing that matters most: noticing what's actually interesting. Stimulants narrow attention. At high doses they produce a state that feels intensely focused but is actually fixated — you go very deep on whatever you're currently doing, regardless of whether it's the right thing to be doing. This is the rat pressing the lever. Not because the lever is the best option, but because the lever is right there and the drug says: this is what we're doing now.
The founders I've met who rely heavily on stimulants to work often have a specific failure mode: they're extremely productive at executing on a plan and very bad at noticing when the plan is wrong. They've optimized for throughput at the expense of calibration.
IV. The Doing vs. The Seeming
Paul Valéry said that a poem is never finished, only abandoned. I think startups are the opposite: a startup is never abandoned, only finished — and the founders who succeed are the ones who correctly identify when to abandon the current theory and start a new one inside the same vehicle.
The hardest skill in startups is not execution. It's the willingness to update.
Here is the failure mode in full detail, because I've watched it happen many times: a smart person has a hypothesis about what users want. They build it. Users don't respond the way they expected. The founder generates reasons why this doesn't mean what it seems to mean. ("Users don't know what they want." "We need more time." "The data is noisy." "This one user gave positive feedback.") They continue building. The pattern repeats. At some point — six months in, eighteen months in — they run out of money and options, and they look back and realize the signal was there very early.
What went wrong is not stupidity. It's identity. The founder had identified with the original hypothesis so thoroughly that disconfirming it felt like personal failure rather than information.
The antidote is to hold your hypotheses loosely. This is a cliché in startup culture and almost nobody actually does it, because it requires a kind of psychological separation between your identity and your current theory that is genuinely difficult to maintain when you've raised money, hired people, and told your family what you're building.
But the founders who get this right have a specific trick: they think of themselves not as "the person building X" but as "the person whose job is to figure out what people actually want." The company is an instrument of investigation, not the conclusion. When the investigation produces new evidence, you update the instrument.
V. The Actual Answer to the Rat Question
So what would you do, alone in a cage, with nothing but Adderall?
If you're most people: you'd feel very focused, very briefly — and then you'd loop. You'd go deep on whatever task was in front of you. You'd feel productive. The hours would feel purposeful. And nothing meaningful would happen, because meaningful work requires the thing stimulants suppress: the willingness to sit with uncertainty, to notice that the current direction feels subtly off, to let your mind wander into the territory adjacent to the problem.
The real answer — the one I've come to after funding thousands of startups and watching many of them succeed and many more fail — is that the people who do well in the cage are the ones who were already working on something that mattered to them before anyone gave them any stimulants.
Curiosity doesn't need help getting started. It needs help getting organized, help communicating, sometimes help with the boring execution layer. But the ignition — the thing that makes you actually want to work — either pre-exists or it doesn't, and no amount of pharmaceutical assistance or motivational content or accountability partners will manufacture it from nothing.
The question this book is really asking is: how do you find and stay in contact with that thing?
I think the answer is simpler than people make it, and harder than people want to hear.
You find it by doing a lot of different things, paying close attention to which ones make you feel like you've lost track of time, and then ruthlessly eliminating everything else until you're spending most of your hours on the thing that produces that feeling.
You stay in contact with it by building an environment — physical, social, financial, psychological — where you don't need to override the feeling in order to do what you're supposed to do. Where what you want to do and what you're supposed to do are mostly the same thing.
The rat in the cage drank the drugged water because there was nothing else worth engaging with. The founder collapses into metrics and stimulants and growth hacks for the same reason.
The cage is optional. Most people don't notice they're in one until it's too late.
The rest of this book is about how to build the alternative.
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Instead of watching an hour of Netflix watch this 30 minutes lecture and learn more about bitcoin mining than most people working at top Bitcoin companies learn in their entire careers.
A man spends 50 years teaching at MIT.
He knows his time is running out.
So he records one last lecture — everything he knows, distilled into a single hour.
He died 5 months later.
This is that lecture.
The most important hour you'll watch this week. 👇
Bookmark it for later
Huberman just shared 10 things every man over 40 should listen to if they're thinking of using peptides to keep their brain sharp, shed body fat or sleep better.
1) A popular peptide helped people lose 1/3 of their body weight in 6 months
ANTHROPIC PAYS $750,000 A YEAR FOR ENGINEERS WHO UNDERSTAND WHY AI WORKS.
STANFORD JUST PUT THE SAME KNOWLEDGE ON YOUTUBE FOR FREE.
WATCH IT THIS WEEKEND. NOT EVENTUALLY. THIS WEEKEND.
[YIKES] Stifel is calling for a $38k $BTC
Their Chief Equity Strategist says that right now, Bitcoin is:
- Not behaving like a store of value
- Not acting as a hedge against debasement
- Behaving more like an over extended tech stock
Past $BTC bear markets have averaged -85.6% drawdowns from ATHs.
If that were to repeat, it would put us at $18,150.
If that's the case, we're backing up the truck.
.@collision and I interviewed @elonmusk.
0:00:00 - Orbital data centers
0:36:46 - Grok and alignment
0:59:56 - xAI’s business plan
1:17:21 - Optimus and humanoid manufacturing
1:30:22 - Does China win by default?
1:44:16 - Lessons from running SpaceX
2:20:08 - DOGE
2:38:28 - TeraFab